Athena Sisterhood

by Dharma Kelleher

  “Y’all all right?” asked Shea as she climbed out of the cab of the truck. She shined her flashlight at them.

  Savage shielded her eyes from the light. “I’m fine. Not so sure about Indigo. Her bike landed on her when she went tumbling down that hill over yonder.”

  Shea kneeled down in front of Indigo. “How ya feeling, girl?”

  “Cold,” Indigo grumbled, her hands on her temples.

  “She was seeing double earlier and having a hard time walking straight,” added Savage.

  “I’ll be all right once I get warm,” said Indigo rather tersely. “Don’t need to go to no hospital.”

  “Indigo, you should have a doc look at you. You could have a concussion, internal bleeding, broken ribs.” Shea put a hand on Indigo’s arm.

  Indigo pulled her arm away. “Don’t tell me what to do, Havoc. I’m still mad at you for the other day.”

  “Look, I’m real sorry about that. Truly I am. But concussions ain’t no joke. Seriously, I had a cousin die from one.”

  Indigo scoffed. “Last time I went to Cortes Regional, they refused to treat me ’cause I’m trans. I was running 104-degree fever and they were all, ‘We don’t know how to treat your kind.’ Such bullshit. I ain’t going back there.”

  Shea sighed. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I know a good doctor in the ER. I can make a call if you want.”

  “I’ll see how I feel in the morning.” Indigo started shivering.

  “Well, let’s get you warm at least.” Shea helped her up and into the cab of the truck, then started the engine. “Sit tight while we get your bikes.”

  Shea closed the door and turned to Savage. “You guys call the cops?”

  “Naw, we called Labrys first. She said not to.”

  Shea grimaced. “You get a look at the guys who did this?”

  “Four or five Thundermen. There was a medium-size guy with long dark hair and scrunched-up face.”

  “Probably Mackey.”

  “A really tall guy with a big revolver on his belt.”

  “Sounds like One-Shot.”

  “I didn’t get a good look at anyone else.”

  Shea scanned the area with her flashlight and spotted Savage’s motorcycle lying on its right side in a gulley. She climbed down the embankment, hefted the bike onto its side stand, and inspected it. “Tires look okay. No damage to the wheels. Got a mean scratch the length of the tank. Your front fender is bent, but I may be able to make it drivable. You try to start it?”

  “Not yet. How we gonna get it up out of the gully? It’s all rocky and I can’t hardly see shit,” said Savage.

  “Lemme deal with this fender first. Don’t need it tearing up your tire. Then we’ll see about getting it outta the gully.”

  Shea climbed back up to the truck, opened the trailer, and pulled out a long pry bar, which she used to bend the bike’s front fender away from the wheel.

  Satisfied, she tossed the pry bar up onto the shoulder of the road. “Let’s see if it still runs.” She swung a leg over the seat, turned the key, and pressed the starter. It revved a little but didn’t quite catch.

  “You think the engine’s busted?” asked Savage.

  “Probably just needs a little coaxing. Bikes ain’t meant to be on their side.” Shea pressed the starter again, and after a little encouragement with the throttle it sputtered to life.

  “Whew,” said Savage. “That’s a relief. How you gonna get it back onto the road?”

  “You’ll see. Better scoot back. It’ll probably kick up some rocks.”

  Savage stepped back toward the truck. When she was clear, Shea gunned the motor, sending up a rooster tail of debris, then floored it up the steep embankment onto the road.

  “Fuck yeah! That’s what I’m talking about,” said Shea, her heart pounding with excitement. “That shit’ll make your butt pucker. Whew!”

  “You think it’s okay to ride home?”

  “I reckon so. I didn’t see any disconnected lines and don’t smell any fuel, so should make it home at least. If it gives you any problems, gimme another call. Now, where’s Indigo’s bike?”

  Savage pointed down the hill on the other side of the road. “Down there somewhere.”

  Shea’s joy evaporated. “Crap.” She shined the flashlight down the grassy hillside until the light glinted off of something metallic. “There it is! About forty feet down the hill.”

  “How we gonna get it up here?”

  “Truck’s got a winch on it. I think we can pull it up here. Probably ain’t ridable.” Shea walked to the front of the truck and pulled out the hook and cable to its full length, then shimmied her way down to where Indigo’s bike lay.

  All fairings had ripped off and the tank was naked. The front tire was torn around a twisted wheel and hanging on to a bent telelever front end. Shea hooked the cable around the forks just above the “A” arm.

  “Savage,” called Shea, “you know how to operate the winch?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Take up the slack. Slowly. I’ll let you know when to stop.”

  The winch motor hummed and the cable grew taut. “Okay, stop!”

  Shea readjusted the cable to make sure the hook wasn’t going to slip off. “Okay, ease her on up.”

  The cable groaned and strained. With a grind and crunch, the bike dragged up the hillside, cutting a groove in the prairie grass and mowing down the occasional prickly pear cactus. Shea followed along beside it.

  The groaning grew more pronounced. With a loud crack, the “A” arm snapped free and the front end broke off the frame. The rest of the motorcycle slid back down the hill about ten feet.

  “Hold it!” Shea shouted. “Put the winch in neutral.”

  Shea pulled the hook and cable back down and ran the cable through the front wheel, then down the hill again to hook it to the main bike frame. “Okay, pull her up again.”

  The winch dragged both sections of the motorcycle up to the street.

  Savage came over as Shea inspected the broken front end.

  “Damn, that bike is toast,” said Savage.

  Shea sighed. “That’d be my guess. Let’s get it onto the bed of the truck.”

  The two of them heaved the pieces of motorcycle up the ramp and into the back of the trailer, then strapped them in place with tie-downs. Once Shea was sure they were secure, she stepped over to the cab of the truck.

  Indigo rolled down the window. “How bad is it?”

  “Well, I’ll tell it to ya straight. You, my dear, are the proud owner of seven hundred pounds of scrap metal.”

  “Fuck. Just what I needed.” Indigo held her temples in her hands.

  “I can haul what’s left of it back to Iron Goddess so your insurance adjuster can take a look at it. You need me to drop y’all off somewhere?”

  “We were going up to Indigo’s place for the night,” said Savage. “I guess we can ride two-up on my bike.”

  Shea looked at Savage’s Street. “Not much of a passenger seat and no sissy bar. You think you can hold on?” she asked Indigo.

  Indigo opened the door and gingerly stepped out of the truck. “I should be okay. Thanks for helping us, Havoc.” She gave Shea a fist bump.

  “Anything for my sisters.” Shea turned to Savage. “You ever hear back from those three members that were missing a few nights ago?”

  Savage’s face darkened. “Raven, Goth, and Pixie? No. I’m really worried. I hope the Thundermen haven’t gotten to them, too.”

  Shea nodded. “Let’s hope. Take it slow going home. I can follow y’all as far as Bradshaw City.”

  “I appreciate it,” said Savage as she tightened the chinstrap on her helmet.

  Shea leaned into Savage, as if to give her a hug. “Drive her over to the new hospital up there in Bradshaw City,” Shea whispered. “Maybe she’ll have better luck with the staff. S’posed to be state-of-the-art.”

  “Will do, Havoc. Thanks again.” Savage patted her on the back and mounted her bike
.

  Indigo winced as she pulled her helmet back on and climbed onto the back of Savage’s bike, wrapping her arms around Savage’s husky middle. They eased down the road, keeping to the speed limit.

  Shea followed them until they hit the limits of Bradshaw City. After a quick stop for a bag of spicy pork rinds at a convenience store, she turned around and headed south to Sycamore Springs.

  On the way back, she nibbled on the pork rinds, letting the burn keep her awake on the dark road.

  Something from earlier still worried her. Was Labrys planning to retaliate against the Thunder? The last thing they needed was for the violence to escalate.

  She flipped on the radio to pull her out of her thoughts. “You’re listening to today’s country, KORT-FM, Ironwood,” said the radio announcer. “A heads-up for folks on the road near Bradshaw City—we just got word from the Cortes County Sheriff’s Office that Pine Road is closed in both directions due to a massive fire at Bootlegger Bob’s, a popular biker bar just east of town. No word yet of any injuries, but we will—”

  Shea switched it off. Bootlegger Bob’s was a Thunder bar. Shea’s gut told her Labrys was somehow responsible.

  Chapter 32

  Rios arrived at her desk to find a yellow Post-it note attached to her monitor.

  See me when you get in this morning.—LT

  She took a deep breath and let it out. She hadn’t heard anything back from Shea about her supposed lead on the tainted hex. While security footage from Trip Hop and other clubs showed members of the Sisterhood dancing, it failed to confirm the one witness’ story that the Sisterhood was dealing hex in the restrooms. Interviews and background investigations on the victims had also led to dead ends.

  No doubt Goodman was calling her into his office to chew her out for not closing these cases.

  The glass door to his office was open. Goodman had a half-eaten breakfast burrito in one hand and was wiping something off his tie with the other.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah, come in.” He set the burrito down, and wiped his hands on the napkin before handing her a note from a phone message pad. “Got a call from the fire marshal. Someone burned down Bootlegger Bob’s last night.”

  “The Confederate Thunder’s bar?” Rios’ jaw went slack from disbelief as she stared at the note. “Holy crap! Any casualties?”

  “Five dead. Four more admitted with serious burns. Several others treated at the scene for smoke inhalation.”

  “Who’d be insane enough to set fire to Bootlegger Bob’s?”

  “Interesting you should ask that question.” He picked up three case files and set them in front of her. “These are those other three arson cases I mentioned to you before. They were originally assigned to Property Crimes. All have similar burn patterns and multiple ignition points, suggesting a coordinated attack. The fire inspector’s saying this latest one at Bootlegger Bob’s has the same MO.”

  Rios thumbed through the files. A strip club. State senator’s office. A church. The Athena Sisterhood had staged protests at all three locations. And now Bootlegger Bob’s, not long after a couple of dustups between the two biker gangs. “You think the Athena Sisterhood burned down the bar?”

  “I do. Combine that with the Thunderman who was recently murdered and the four deaths from strychnine poisoning and you have ten homicides, all linked to the Athena Sisterhood.”

  “Do we have any physical evidence tying the Sisterhood to any of the fires?” She flipped through the case files.

  “We just got forensics back on the first two. Still waiting on the third. Property Crimes hasn’t had a chance to go through it. But now they’re our cases. District Commander Bedford is requesting a task force to investigate and shut the Athena Sisterhood. Since you’re already looking into them for the strychnine-poisoning cases, I want you to head it up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How are those poisoning cases coming, by the way?”

  “Detective Johnson and I have been going through security footage and have spotted several people wearing Sisterhood vests on the night in question. Still putting names to faces. I got a CI working them from the inside. She called the other day saying she thinks she knows who the dealer is.”

  “Do we have a name?”

  “Not yet. I told her we need solid proof.”

  “I want a name. Sooner rather than later. And have your CI look into these arson cases, too. I’m assigning Detectives Morris and Bello to work with you and Johnson. And check with Escobar and Chen in Property Crimes. These first three arson cases were theirs to begin with.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want to make this clear, Detective. This is our top priority. Bedford wants members of the Athena Sisterhood taken down and in bracelets before they kill anyone else. Any questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I expect to see a progress report on my desk by end of day. Dismissed.”

  Rios gathered up the case folders and walked down to the cubicle shared by Morris and Bello. “You two are assigned to my new task force.”

  “Bullshit!” said Bello, looking up from his computer. “We already got a full caseload.”

  “So do I. Talk to Goodman if you have a problem with it. I need y’all to work these cases.” Rios handed Morris the three older arson case folders.

  Morris glanced over the folders. “These are Property’s cases. Why are you giving these to us?”

  “Same firebug killed five people last night at Bootlegger Bob’s, most likely someone connected to the Athena Sisterhood. I’m on my way over there now to talk to the fire inspector. So far ten deaths are linked to the Sisterhood. We’re tasked with building a case against them.”

  A big smile spread across Bello’s face. “Well, why didn’t you say so before? ’Bout time we shut them bitches down.”

  Morris opened one of the files. “Where should we start?”

  “Go through all the forensics reports we just got back. Reinterview witnesses. See what you can find that points to the Sisterhood. Goodman wants a report by the end of the day, so let me know what you come up with by this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?” Bello asked. “What about my other cases?”

  “This takes priority. Bedford wants them shut down before anyone else gets killed.” Rios walked farther down the aisle to Johnson’s desk. “Grab your coat. You and I are taking a ride up to Bradshaw City.”

  —

  Two dozen motorcycles lined the street surrounding the entrance at Bootlegger Bob’s. Normally, at nine o’clock in the morning the place would be all but deserted. But now a crowd of Thundermen, old ladies, and hangarounds stood vigil, pressing against the police barricades under low clouds that threatened rain.

  “You really think the Sisterhood burned down the Thunder’s bar?” asked Johnson, gazing out the window. “They’d have to be suicidal.”

  “So far, that’s what it’s looking like.”

  Rios inched her car into the driveway past faces filled with anger and violence. Deputy Graham was standing guard at the crime scene, as he had at the Genette Abrams crime scene. Dressed in rain gear, he stood with a wary eye scanning the leather-clad crowd, his hand resting on his service weapon.

  Rios rolled down her window and was hit with the acrid stench of burned rubber and scorched wood. She flashed her detective’s shield. “Keeping the crowd under control, Deputy?”

  “Trying to.”

  “Fire marshal still here?” Drizzle dotted her windshield.

  “Under the white tent.” He pointed to where a group of people stood under a canopy.

  “Thanks. Stay dry.”

  He waved her through. Rios parked next to a dark blue CCSO patrol car. “You want an umbrella?” she asked Johnson as she grabbed her notebook.

  Johnson squinted up into the ash-white sky. “No, thanks. A little drizzle never hurt anyone.”

  They found Fire Marshal Wayne Denetclaw talking with one of the evidence techs underneath t
he white canopy. Water droplets dotted the high cheekbones of his weatherworn face. Silver hair peeked from under a Cortes County Fire Department baseball cap.

  “Morning, Wayne,” said Rios. She had first met him when she was a uniformed officer. His demeanor always reminded her of her father.

  “Antonia!” he said, using her given name. When he hugged her, his eyes vanished into slits with his smile. “So good to see you. Who’s your friend?”

  “Fire Marshal Wayne Denetclaw, meet Detective Ebony Johnson.”

  He shook Johnson’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ebony. You Toni’s new partner?”

  “No, just working with her on this case.”

  “Ah yes.” He turned to the smoking ruins and put his hands on his hips, his smile fading. “Five fatalities I know of so far. A few others with second- and third-degree burns. Very sad.”

  “We know the fire was deliberately set?” asked Rios.

  “Without a doubt. Multiple ignition points. One in back. Two in front. One on the east side. All within minutes of each other. Follow me, I’ll show you.” He trudged around the building and gestured for Rios and Johnson to follow. They stopped at the rear, where there was little left but the scorched foundation. He pointed to a particularly dark scorch mark. “Fire started here around midnight last night. Burn pattern and glass fragments suggest some sort of improvised incendiary device.”

  “A Molotov cocktail?” asked Rios.

  “Yup. To make matters worse, the bar stored cases of liquor back here, so once it lit…” Denetclaw shook his head.

  “You say the arsonist also hit the front and sides of the building?” asked Johnson.

  “They did.” He walked back around the east side of the building, which had also burned to the foundation with similar scorch marks. “Another ignition point here at the east exit. We found three of the bodies here.”

  Denetclaw continued on and stopped near the smoking remnants of three motorcycles that had been parked near the front entrance. “Two more devices on the front. One at the front door, another hit these motorbikes. And like I said, all within a few minutes according to witnesses.”